


Ghost Ship

by Pyroxenite



Series: Love Don't Die [1]
Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: A gun, Alien Impostor(s) (Among Us), Angst, Ghosts, Gun Type Imposter(s) (Among Us), Happy Ending, Multi, Murder, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Romance, Shipping, Sorry the Angst got out of control, The Skeld (Among Us), There's a lot of shipping in this just be ready, ghost POV, imposter let me see what you have, murder mystery?, not really - Freeform, there's also a lot of ghosts, they'll be fine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26928637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyroxenite/pseuds/Pyroxenite
Summary: The one comfort in being brutally back-stabbed by his fellow crewmate was that Red was sure at least in whatever afterlife he ended up in, he would finally be free of the monotony of tasks.He did not expect ghost capitalism.At least he can watch over his Green now, right?
Relationships: Crewmate & Crewmate (Among Us), Crewmate/Crewmate (Among Us), Imposter/Crewmate (Among Us), Impostor & Impostor (Among Us)
Series: Love Don't Die [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030176
Comments: 43
Kudos: 140





	1. Oh No

**Author's Note:**

> Among Us is a real good time and honestly the closest we're gonna get to a (legal) multiplayer Danganronpa  
> 

It's a dark and stormy cup of coffee.

At least, that’s how it feels to Red, gripping his cup tightly with all the indignant rage of an underpaid crew member waking up obscenely early to complete even more pointless tasks.

 _What is a crewmate but a miserable little pile of tasks_ , he muses, raising his steaming cup to his face and shuddering when the resulting _clink_ reminds him that he has yet to remove his helmet for breakfast.

He doesn’t even remember how he got this job. The monotony of waking up, doing chores, eating, doing more things, eating yet again, doing tasks until he wants to drop. The only change is when they receive fresh supplies from some unmanned little robot ship. He swears it’s addled his brain—he can’t remember who he used to be before he donned the helmet and boarded this ship.

For that matter, he can’t remember boarding the ship. _Do what your screen tells you to do,_ someone said to him. _Don’t forget to do your tasks, if you have them._ He can’t remember who the someone was. _If you do that, you’ll win._ He must have been in space too long.

Red reaches up with his free hand and fiddles with the visor on his helmet. It pops open with a click. He sips his coffee.

Courtesy of The Company he knows he must’ve leased his life to, the coffee, like all their meals and amenities, is complementary. Free food is the second brightest spot in his endless void of a day. The first, of course, is—

“Good morning, Red!”

Green, a fellow crewmate, who made it a personal mission to make Red feel like the most important person in his world. He was endlessly optimistic, too, all “Let’s do our best today!” and “I believe in us!” in that sweet way of his. White tried to imitate Green once, getting so sickeningly sappy that for the first and last time Red fervently wished his tasks included homicide, but from Green it was endearing.

“G’morning, Green,” Red mumbles around his coffee, glad that the cup hid his smile. “How are you doing?”

Green seems delighted that Red asked, as though they didn’t have the same routine every morning. “Wonderfully, Red!” He chirps. “How are you?”

Green had come from the far end of the cafeteria, and now Red could see that he carries a tray of toast and fruit, just like always. Also like always, Red spies an extra apple and bread with strawberry jam, which, if the uncountable mornings prior are anything to go by, will soon be offered to him. “I’m good now,” he says, and means it.

Green laughs and, right on cue, plops down next to Red, pushing his tray slightly in his direction in offering. Red is sure his face is as bright as his suit as he accepts. “Thank you for the food,” he says, pausing to watch the way Green’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he picks through a clump of fresh grapes.

“Of course! You’ll give me your dessert tonight, right?” Green looks up at him from his grapes eagerly, like he doesn’t know the answer.

“Of course,” Red says, as his face burns even harsher, and he has to look away. “You know I hate that cheesecake.” He loves that cheesecake. “I can’t stand sweet things.” Another blatant lie—the strawberry jam on his toast is almost as sweet as Green. “You can have whatever you want,” an impulse strikes him, he steels himself, lets it out.

“As long as I can have you.”

The one truth, and it wasn’t part of their normal routine, and Red knows that Green knows that, and yet Red still can’t bring himself to look at Green or eat his apple.

Green is uncharacteristically silent. Red swallows, his tongue dry and heavy in his mouth. He sneaks a peek, and Green is watching him, mouth slightly ajar, and Red has to look away again. His apple and coffee are both long forgotten. He feels like he should clarify, should tone it down a bit, should try to laugh it away before he scares off his best and only friend on the ship.

A hand ghosts over his own and Red sneaks another peek.

Green is blushing, just a tint of pink on those soft cheeks. He starts to speak, stumbling over his words uncharacteristically. “R-Red, I—”

“Hey, Green!” The routine is ruined further as Red’s least favorite voice in the whole wide ship rings out from the cafeteria doorway. It’s White, and she is not only surely here to ruin Red’s day, but she’s about to ruin it two hours early.

“Why are you awake,” Red scowls mostly to himself as he flips his visor down as menacingly as he can muster. He is no longer blushing, and is no longer embarrassed. The moment was ruined and Red tries to convey that to White telepathically, hoping she understands just how much she’s screwing with his impulse plans right now.

Unfortunately, White does not take the hint, and she immediately latches on to Green, tugging the arm of his suit. “Green! My favorite color!”

Green casts an apologetic look at Red, who swears he could feel a soft squeeze as Green withdrew his hand to greet White.

“Hiya, White!” Green says, looking bright and friendly even as Red glowers behind him. “It’s a little early, dontcha think? What’s up?”

White laughs, though it sounds off-kilter even for her. “It’s not that early,” she says. “You and Red do it every morning.”

“Yes, but everyone else is also asleep,” he says patiently. “It’s not like you to get up first. Is something wrong?”

Now White looks almost nervous, as hard as it is to tell with her helmet on and her visor down. That gives Red pause. White was usually composed, if annoying, and as much as Red dislikes the attention Green gives her, he doesn’t actually hate White. They are fellow crewmates, after all.

“It’s not a whole lot,” White begins, and Red gets a flash of dread. Things don’t go wrong often, and most problems are relatively harmless—faulty doors, blackouts, but once in a while something serious does happen, the worst being the near-nuclear meltdown of just last week. He waits for White to continue speaking, already going through the frequency of problems in his head. _Once a month, once every two weeks, twice a week, two times in one day…_

Red has a bad feeling about this.

“…But?” Green prompts, when White falls silent.

“It’s just,” she says, looking conflicted as she finally opens her visor with a click. “I’m just having trouble.”

“Trouble with what?” Green asks out loud the very same question in Red’s mind, quite a bit kindlier. “Your tasks?”

“Yes!” White seems relieved. “I need help with one of my tasks, and I just figured since you’re always so helpful…” She gives Green a hopeful look.

Red can’t argue with her logic, but something doesn’t feel right to him. He watches Green’s face, trying to gauge his reaction and already knowing what his answer will be.

Green beams at the compliment, and opens his mouth to accept.

“I’ll go with you.”

White and Green both stare at Red in varying degrees of surprise. Red is surprised with himself, too. It just slipped out, his lips moving before his mind had even made the decision.

White looks a little confused, while Green’s eyes are lit up with…something. It’s hard to tell with someone that bright.

“I only need one person,” White says slowly, staring at Red like she didn’t know what to make of him. She looks back to Green, who is definitely excited now.

“I assumed,” Red clarifies immediately. “I want to help.” It sounds strange even to him, and he resists the urge to cringe. White doesn’t look convinced.

“But—”

“Green hasn’t eaten yet,” Red blurts, almost desperately. “He needs to finish breakfast. I can help.”

He hasn’t eaten yet either, but White seems to relax, her smile coming back as she considers the spread on Green’s tray.

“That’s fine,” she says, and clicks down her visor with a wink. “Let’s be off!” She turns, dramatically, and Red rolls his eyes as he moves to follow her.

He is stopped by a sharp tug on his suit sleeve. Green is there with a fistful of red fabric, looking like he held the moon in his hands. Red thinks he can physically feel his heart melt.

“I’m so happy,” Green whispers. “I’m so happy you two are getting along now.” He looks up at Red with those big eyes, the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. Green squeezes his arm and Red thinks he might swoon. “Can we talk tonight at dinner?” Green asks, and those big eyes don’t reveal a hint of doubt or distaste. “Over that cheesecake you promised me?”

Red almost does swoon. “Of course,” he whispers back, and in another moment of impulse reaches down and touches Green’s hand, gently.

Any lingering resentment for having to help White evaporates. In what may have been the highest spirits since he first put on his little red helmet, Red detaches himself from Green and leaves the cafeteria with White, falling into step beside her.

They walk in silence, metal boots clanging against the metal floor, marching past Administration and through Storage. Red catches a glimpse of someone, maybe Yellow or Orange, moving through the stacks of boxes and shipments.

“Where are we going?” Red asks, as White pauses near a crate of fuel, watching the other crew member for a moment. They never turn around.

“Electrical,” she says finally, and starts walking again. Red almost asks why, but he never gets the chance. “Have you heard of the Imposter?”

It’s asked so casually, thrown over White’s shoulder as she treks down the hall with Red in tow. The word rings a very faint tone in his mind, like something he might’ve skimmed over in the employee’s handbook. “Maybe,” he says. “It’s familiar.”

“It’s supposedly a secret task,” White says, as she stops in front of the door to the Electrical room.

Red steps around her and goes inside, moving towards his usual task spots out of pure habit. “A secret task, huh,” he says. It might just be White messing with him, but again, he knows he’s heard that word somewhere.

“Yes,” she says, and Red can hear her stepping into the room behind him, her footsteps not moving far from the doorway. “It’s a task to win.”

 _If you’ll do that, you’ll win_. Someone’s voice echoes in his head. Something like dread bubbles up in his stomach and he forces it down.

“That’s great, White.” Red just wants to get out of here and go back to Green. He glances over the dials and knobs and blinking lights, and everything looks fine to him. “What exactly did you need help with?”

“Winning.”

White’s voice is cold. Unfeeling. Tainted with something venomous that Red has never heard from another living soul.

A sharp _pop!_ makes his ears ring. He can’t even turn around before a horrible pressure bursts between his shoulder blades, and he’s thrown against the electrical cabinets with a thud.

Red can’t breathe. He tastes blood and dirt and bitter betrayal, as his face rests against the cool floor. He can’t breathe. He sees White standing in the doorway, the flash of a gun in her hand, her face hidden by her helmet’s visor. He can’t breathe. The room starts to darken, and then he sees White fiddle with something, a small remote, and he realizes that it’s not just him, the lights are actually going out.

He can’t breathe.

His suit is soaked with something warm and wet.

Red thinks of Green.

White leaves the room. The blackout has taken full effect, and Red dully wonders who will find him there, alone in Electrical.

He can’t breathe, and the pain is starting to fade.

Red wonders if Green is okay, if he finished his breakfast, what he will think when Red doesn’t show up for dinner.

He doesn’t mind his last thoughts being of Green, of his friend’s big, soulful eyes and sweet face and small little blush, of his boundless good spirit and soft hands.

Unbidden, one stray thought did come to mind, as Red lay dying alone on the floor:

_At least I won’t have to do tasks anymore._


	2. Going Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today!  
> It's ghost time y'all

Red wakes up gasping. It takes a moment for him to realize he’s not breathing, and a very panicked moment longer to realize he doesn’t need to. He can’t feel the pain that was in his lungs only moments ago, or the pressure in his back. He can’t even feel the normally rough suit on his body, though the familiar blinking text on his (previously shattered?) visor reminds him that he is indeed still wearing it.

Then, Red realizes another thing he can’t feel. He looks down. Where his legs should be is just a wisp of red smoke leading to his body, not quite touching the ground. “My legs,” he says, feeling childishly sad, but his own voice startles him. Red spoke, but didn’t really hear the words out in the open. It was like reading his own thoughts processed through the mind of a stranger.

It’s all very weird and Red doesn’t like it. Another splash of red catches his eye, and he tears his eyes away from his newfound lack of legs to focus on the ground below him.

A dead body—his body—is sprawled out, limp and bloodied against the blinking Electrical cabinets. The glass of his other visor is in a thousand tiny pieces, scattered in a dangerous halo around his head. There’s a ragged hole in his back, a gunshot wound leaking red against red.

“Oh,” he says.

He’s floating. He doesn’t know if he can make sense of what he sees—his mind is too light and hazy. He knows he should be dead, he knows White got him while his back was turned—

 _White_.

She killed him.

She’s not here. Red can only see the empty doorway. The ceiling lights are obviously off, though the room is still lit bright as daylight—unnaturally so. Things still cast shadows, but they aren’t darkened, just different, and Red can almost feel the things he can’t see, like the mechanisms in the walls and the wiring in the cabinets. So, he knows for sure that White is well and truly gone.

Red doesn’t understand why she shot him, or who the hell gave her a gun in the first place, but he _does_ understand that White is armed and dangerous and has fucked off to who knows where and Green is alone in the cafeteria and _now_ _Green is in danger_.

The thought moves his ghostly body before he can even form the desire. He glides along, faster than he was in life, straight for the door. He can’t turn, though, too surprised by his own initiative, and braces himself when his path takes him straight to a line of cabinets.

He passes through them harmlessly. He doesn’t even feel it, though the sight of bits of his body disappearing in his peripheral does make him queasy, like being turned upside down on a rollercoaster.

He doesn’t dwell on this. Green is more important.

Out in the hallway, the blackout is still ongoing, but Red can see down the hallway, through Storage, all the way for a glimpse of where they prime the shields. He can feel the presence of someone moving around Storage, and though he can’t see them, he can feel with certainty that it must be Yellow.

Yellow is fairly shy, and doesn’t interact much with her crewmates. The exceptions to that rule are Green, unsurprising since Green got along with everyone, and White, with whom Yellow would often share meals. Red rarely saw Yellow outside of mealtimes, though, and didn’t have much interest in seeking her out.

Now, he curses his unfamiliarity with her as he floats purposefully through boxes and stacks of supplies to where he somehow knows her to be.

“Yellow!” He shouts, even as it feels like his voice is swallowed by something massively, invisibly oppressive. “Yellow, Green is in trouble!”

Yellow shows no signs of having heard him. She is standing, unnaturally still, hand resting on the lever for the garbage chute, face completely hidden by her visor. She seems to be looking straight at him.

Or maybe straight through him.

“Yellow, please!” Red begs, his voice rising in pitch and desperation. “Please, help me!”

Yellow doesn’t move. Her gaze stays fixed on the hallway he came from. There’s a sound from the cafeteria hallway, and her hand twitches, but nothing else.

Footsteps ring out in that hallway, and Red tenses as he feels White leading the way, shouting enough to wake the whole ship.

“I don’t know,” she blubbers. “We were just walking and the lights cut out and we got separated—”

“We’ll find him!”

 _It’s Green_ , he realizes with mounting horror. _They’re talking about me._ He feels his Green follow White through Storage, sees his head pop up from the boxes. Green is stumbling, tripping over cables in his haste to move, to find Red.

“Don’t worry,” Green says, panting with exertion, sounding plenty worried. His visor is open, and crumbs dust his face. “I’m sure he’s just fixing the lights.”

“Green!” Red cries out. “Green, I’m right here!” He gives up on Yellow and floats with purpose, putting his own ghostly body between Green and White as they run. Green doesn’t see him, try as hard as he does to find him. Red begins to realize that even though he can see his crewmates, they can’t hear him anymore, and never will again. Yet, Red still doesn’t stop trying. He follows Green and White all the way through Storage, barely registering the thundering of footsteps from the direction of the shields, ignoring the way the group is suddenly joined by Orange and Purple from the opposite way. He never stops trying to tell Green to run, to get out of there before White kills him too.

“Red’s not here,” Green says, perched on the threshold of Electrical, squinting as he tried to peer in the darkness. He pauses, his face almost hopeful, like he thought Red might pop out and prove him wrong.

“I’m here,” Red says, quietly. It’s no more than a buzz in his ears.

“It’s dark,” White points out. “Maybe we need to fix the blackout first.” Without waiting for an answer, she grabs Green by the arm and tugs him along, to the fuse box. Only a scant few feet from Red’s bloodied corpse. Green allows himself to be dragged, visibly startled when some glass crunches underneath his boots. He looks scared, now. Red’s heart hurts for him, and hurts for himself that he can’t protect him from White.

Orange and Purple stay behind, not entering the room, whispering between themselves.

“What’s that smell?” Green asks, and White shrugs. They fiddle with the switches on the fuse box—it takes them a while, Cyan is the best at fixing the lights and everyone usually leaves it to them—but White finally figures it out and the lights blink on. There’s not much change for Red, but he notes Green blinking in the sudden brightness, the way the shadows in the room are more pronounced.

White sees Red’s body first, he knows she does, but her face is still hidden by her visor and Red can’t tell what she’s thinking. She looks away, watching Green, waiting.

Green peers down at the glass underneath his boots. He turns. Looks. For a moment, Red feels like everything is frozen in time as Green finally sees Red’s dead body.

“I’m sorry,” Red whispers.

Green screams.


	3. The First Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "bamboozling"

Green screams.

The sound breaks Red’s heart.

He scrambles to be at Red’s side, crying out as his knees hit the glass-covered floor. Red reaches for him out of instinct, trying to pull him to safety and comfort., but his hands can’t touch him. Green turns Red’s body on its back, fumbling with the latch on the helmet. He pulls it off, casts it aside. Touches Red’s face, his neck, trying to feel a pulse despite his gloves.

“White, help me!” Green yells. His voice cracks in pain. He keeps one hand on the back of Red’s former head and wraps his other arm around the body’s torso, flinching when red blood seeps into his green suit. “We have to…to Medbay…”

“Green,” White says gently. Red hates her for it. She leans down to rest her hand on Green’s shoulder, and Red shouts at her to leave him alone.

“We need to help him!” Green cries out.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and drops down to her knees beside him. “I’m sorry,” she says, and wraps her arms around him. Green struggles halfheartedly but soon gives up, holding Red’s head to his chest and crying into White’s shoulder.

Red floats down beside them. “Green,” he says, wishing he could offer any kind of comfort, to atone for making his best and only friend hurt like this. Green doesn’t hear him.

The horrible ordeal of knowing but not being known finally catches up to Red and he chokes back a sob. He can’t remember the last time he cried, and now the months of his own staidness is culminating into a stream of tears no one else can hear. What he knows should be painful, hacking sobs aren’t felt at all, which somehow makes the whole thing worse, the wrongness of being untouchable even by himself.

Orange is crying, too, from the doorway, with Purple trying to soothe her. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says, pulling her into a hug, while she shakes her head and sobs.

Red feels two more people approach from the hallway—Cyan and Yellow. Red knows he should be relieved that Cyan is here—they usually take charge during a crisis—but Yellow was acting odd, even for her, and seeing them together makes Red uneasy. “What’s going on?” Cyan asks, slightly out of breath. Yellow trails behind them.

“A body was discovered,” Purple says, his voice slightly muffled by Orange’s suit.

“A body…?” Cyan is confused, but not for long. “Oh—! Shit, Red!” Leaving Yellow behind, they rush to the cabinets, undoing one of their gloves and stuffing it in their pocket. They check a pulse that Red knows isn’t there.

Cyan sits back on their legs, sighing and rubbing their face with a now bloodied bare hand. “I was afraid of this,” they say, and Green chokes on his own tears.

“What?” He says, head whipping around. “You knew this would happen?”

Rather than deny the claim, Cyan reaches into one of their pockets and pulls out a well-worn little green book. “CREWMATE HANDBOOK” is etched into the cover in white. “I didn’t know it would be Red specifically,” they say gently. “But the handbook does say that the Imposter will try to kill us, and it’s our job to catch the bastard.” Cyan opens the book, and starts to flip through the pages, frowning. “I just didn’t think it would take them so long to start,” they murmur.

White’s face twitches.

This isn’t news to Red; White had basically told him before she shot him that she was trouble. Not that Red was surprised—White is definitely suspicious. He just hopes his crewmates can see that too.

The Crewmate Handbook is familiar, too. Red knows he has one, and he knows where it is: On his desk, being used as a coaster for his coffee mugs. There was a permanent stain on the forest green, and the pages were stuck together, having not been opened since Red first boarded the ship. _Whoops,_ he grumbles to himself. He’d meant to read it properly, but the tasks were so simple and monotonous that he was sure he didn’t need any more instructions.

Somehow, even though he skimmed it, Red can’t say exactly what it said. He knows it was divided into sections, and he didn’t bother with the parts that didn’t match the screen on his visor. There was a variety of information that didn’t seem immediately relevant. He can’t remember what _had_ been relevant.

He’s having trouble remembering a lot of things lately.

“Well, it’s started now,” Cyan says, and gets to their feet, snapping the book shut. “We have to call a meeting.”

“Wait,” Purple pipes up from the hallway, not bothering to detach himself from Orange. “What do you mean, a meeting?”

“We have to vote someone off the ship,” Cyan says matter-of-factly. “It’s in the handbook.”

“Oh.”

“The handbook…?” Green says, and then, more quietly, “I…lost mine. In the trash chute.” White hugs him a little closer.

“I, uh,” Purple says, finally pulling away from Orange and scratching the back of his helmet. “I didn’t read mine.”

“I don’t remember what mine says,” Orange says, trying to reattach herself to Purple.

“I don’t like reading mine,” White grumbles quietly.

“I read my handbook,” Lime says, almost giving Red a ghostly heart attack. He hadn’t seen Lime arrive.

Cyan considers them all. “Okay,” they say finally. “That’s fine. I’ll just call this first meeting and we’ll figure it out together.” They look mournfully down at Red’s corpse for another moment, and sigh again, slipping the handbook back in their suit pocket. “Let’s head to the cafeteria.”

They leave, Lime following closely, Purple, Orange, and Yellow trailing behind.

Green still holds Red’s corpse. He gives no indication of moving, even when White gets up, tugging gently on his suit.

“It’s time to go,” she says.

“Just give me a minute.”

“Green—”

“Please, White.”

 _Damn you, White._ Red thinks harsh thoughts her way, willing her to leave them alone. _You at least owe us this_.

Maybe she heard him, or the long-lost voice of her conscience, because White just nods, and leaves without another word.

Green shudders with a sob and pulls Red’s previous head close. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into Red’s hair, the edges of his helmet bumping the cabinets behind them.

“I’m sorry too,” Red says, and means it. He wraps his semi-transparent arms around Green and wishes he could do more.

They stay like that, until a horrible noise blares from the alarm system and Red’s visor lights up. _EMERGENCY MEETING_ , it says in bold letters. The message doesn’t go away. Red can barely see around them.

Green flicks his visor down. “Oh,” he says, and flicks it back up. He whispers a goodbye to Red, laying the corpse’s head gently on the floor, and stands up with obvious effort. He moves. Lingers at the doorway.

“It’s time to go,” Red says, so softly that even he doesn’t hear it.

Green turns around and doesn’t look back.

Red follows Green back to the cafeteria. Everyone has already gathered at the central table, Cyan’s re-gloved hand on the huge red button in the center. The button, not used yet, had previously been covered by stacks of napkins and condiments, now shoved to the side. Lime sat next to them, and on Lime’s left is Yellow, followed by White, two empty seats, Purple, Orange, Pink, and then Blue on Cyan’s right.

Green sits down next to White, and even though he was dead and technically no longer part of the crew, Red settles in the only available spot, between Green and Purple. The flashing words on his visor vanish as soon as he takes his place at the table.

“Finally,” Purple says, waving a hand in front of his own face. “That was getting annoying.”

“I guess it stops when everyone arrives,” Pink muses from his seat, his sentence punctuated with a yawn.

“Good morning, Pink,” White laughs, and Pink waves at her lazily. It was definitely still early, even if they didn’t really have mornings in space. Normally, everyone would just now be waking up, and Pink usually slept in the latest. Not that anyone minded—he enjoyed doing tasks, for whatever reason, and got them done the fastest.

“What are we here for?” Blue asks, her hands folded politely on the table.

Cyan clears their throat. “Red is dead.” They take their hand off the button and fish around their pocket for the Crewmate Handbook.

“Dead?” Blue asks, her tone of voice not changing in the slightest. “That’s upsetting. What happened?”

“Yeah, White,” Red says, his voice warbling in that strange ghostly way. “What happened?”

“Seriously?” Pink snaps awake from whatever nap he was on the brink of. “Is Red seriously dead?”

Green sniffles. White reaches over to grab his hand. “Green and I found his body in Electrical,” she says, tearing up. “He was probably killed during the blackout.”

“Blackout?” Blue’s voice doesn’t falter from her politeness. “I just woke up when the emergency button was pushed, I didn’t notice a blackout.”

“Orange and I were in the Reactor room,” Purple says. “We left when the blackout started.”

“That’s true,” Orange agrees. “We were in there all night.”

“All night? What, did you guys sleep at all?” White’s voice is teasing, and Orange tries to stammer out a defense.

“Wait,” Pink says. His voice doesn’t rise above his usual whisper, but he’s suddenly standing, and he clicks his visor up, revealing a face of panic. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, his body?”

The noise dies out, and even White looks awkward, looking around at the ceiling rather than the crewmates she’s been bamboozling.

“Red was shot in the back.” It’s Yellow, speaking up for the first time since the incident. Pink’s head snaps around. “He died before we could do anything.”

“Shot…?” Pink mouths almost silently, and then puts his head in his hands. “Oh, Red…”

Blue clicks up her visor. She’s not quite smiling. “That really is a shame,” she says. “Where were you, Yellow?”

Yellow stiffens, but White answers for her.

“Yellow’s fine, she was in Storage,” she says. “Fiddling around with the trash chute. I heard it.”

“I see,” Blue says, and rests her hands back on the table.

Everyone is silent again, the heavy unknown looming over them. Red can see White fidgeting, Orange leaning into Purple’s arms, Lime looking over Cyan’s shoulder as Cyan flips through the handbook.

“Here we go,” Cyan says, laying the book delicately on the table. They point to a paragraph that Red can’t read. “We need to decide who the Imposter--yes, that's the handbook calls it--might be, and take a vote. Whoever we vote is thrown into the airlock and off the ship. If there’s a tie, or if we don’t choose someone, then we just end the meeting.” They read fast, listing a few more details about the process.

“Off the ship? Wouldn’t that kill them?” Orange says.

“That’s kind of the point,” White says, winking at Purple when he shoots her a glare. The table erupts in noise.

“Can we really do that?”

“I don’t like this.”

"What does that mean, 'Imposter'?"

“It was probably Yellow.”

“Don’t say that!”

“How do we know it wasn’t Cyan?”

Immediately, both Blue and Lime jump to Cyan’s defense, Lime doing quite a bit more shouting than Blue.

“How dare you!”

“What if it was you, Purple?”

“Cyan would never!”

“It can’t have been Cyan,” Blue says, staring down the offender, Purple, who let go of Orange long enough to hold up his hands in surrender.

Lime slams his fist on the table. “Why would Cyan call a meeting that might kill them? Don’t be stupid, jackass.”

“Lime, Blue, I love you both, but please shut the hell up for a minute,” Cyan says, picking up their handbook and flipping to a new page.

Blue smiles, while Lime sits back down, ducking his head.

Red is getting bored. No one suspects White, and he doesn’t want them to just vote off some poor random crewmate. The important thing, though, is no one suspects Green either, so Green is safe for a while until Red can figure out how to protect him from White.

He tries to leave his seat, but a warning light flashes in his visor, and Red decides he can wait.

“What now, then?” White is obviously getting antsy too. Red wonders if she realized she would be killed if she were caught.

“We don’t have to vote,” Cyan reminds the group, “But we’re risking another murder.”

“I…don’t think we should vote,” Pink speaks up, raising his head. His eyes are so tired. “I don’t want to get it wrong and lose someone else.”

“I agree,” Blue says. “It’s too early to kill anyone off.”

“As creepy as that was,” Lime says, “You’re right. I think we should skip.”

“All in favor?” Cyan asks, and almost everyone raises their hands, including Red, though he knows his vote doesn’t count now. “Green?”

Green is sitting, staring at the table. “I—” He starts, and stops. “I think we should vote—” His voice breaks off with a sob.

“I know you two were close,” Cyan says, reaching out even though they sat on the opposite end of the table. “We’ll find Red’s killer soon, I promise. We just need evidence.”

Without looking up, Green raises a shaky hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who read this for ghost capitalism, the next chapter should provide.


	4. Sabotage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being dead is boring, until it isn't.

Red spends the rest of the day moping, wandering through the halls of the Skeld, moaning his displeasure in the hopes that someone, anyone, would hear him. No one does. His crewmates slowly but methodically take care of their tasks, Red watching each of them until boredom takes him elsewhere. He doesn’t bother trying to do his own tasks, though the display on his visor still lists them dutifully.

Soon after the meeting ends, Red’s body is disposed of via the airlock accompanied by a very brief funeral, and the Electrical room is cleaned and sanitized. Outwardly, the ship is back to normal, but the tension and paranoia never leave the air. Blue and Lime don’t outwardly seem bothered, though Red notices how they hang off of poor Cyan that much more closely, watching over their shoulders and ushering their irritated quarry through the ship.

Orange and Purple won’t separate for an instant, pulling each other along for their tasks. Purple standing guard as Orange is preoccupied with the reactor, Orange chittering like a frightened bird while Purple does his downloads and uploads. Red tires of them quickly, ignoring the pang of envy he feels seeing them hold the other close.

Green and White also stick close together, much to Red’s chagrin. Green doesn’t move much, choosing to stay at the meeting table for hours while White hovers nearby, until she gets frustrated, finally pulls him to his feet, and drags him away. Red doesn’t follow.

Yellow sits alone in electrical, pretending to fiddle with wires whenever someone stops by. Mostly, she stares at the vent in the floor, sometimes pulling her handbook out of her pocket, usually putting it right back in without a page turned. Red wonders what she knows.

Pink finishes his tasks impressively quickly and spends the rest of the day in Security, forgoing breakfast and lunch to watch the cameras. Red passes through the room occasionally just to check on him, quieting his own moaning to listen to Pink’s muttering.

“No one else,” Pink whispers. “No one else will die.” His handbook is open in front of him, but he doesn’t look away from the security feed long enough to read it. On screen, crewmates pass in and out of view, hurrying to their next tasks.

Red ceases his floating and settles down on the desk, next to the keyboard. The single benefit to the tragic loss of his ghostly legs is that Red can simply turn his body to watch the screens without knocking himself over or straining his neck. Originally, he had to concentrate to keep himself anchored to the desk, but now it was second nature. If he was going to be dead, he might as well get good at it.

Pink gave no notice of Red’s intrusion, though he wasn’t one to mind being interrupted—he always seemed to enjoy being bothered by Orange and Purple’s nonsense—and Red uses that to his advantage. While Pink does little more than twitch whenever someone comes on screen, Red peers down at the handbook and tries to read the page around Pink’s splayed fingers.

_…as Crewmates have instructions for tasks on their Interactive Virtual Visor(IVV), Imposters have instructions for…after a confirmed kill, sensors on their IVV will start a timer. Violating the timer to kill again will result in…Be aware that the method of killing is unique to each Imposter, predetermined at the start…not limited to: Gun, Parasitic Alien—_

“PINK!”

A piercing cry startles Red into dropping through the desk and floating halfway through the floor. Pink doesn’t fare much better, nearly jumping out of his suit and sending the handbook flying. It thwaps against the monitors in a flutter of pages.

“What the heck, White?” Green’s voice says, and as Red reorients himself he realizes that White and Green have somehow snuck up on him and Pink in Security.

White is bent over, shaking with laughter while Pink is frozen in panic, hand on his rapidly moving chest.

Green groans, but Red can hear the smile in his voice as he says “Sorry, Pink,” offering his hand to the poor crewmate. “I told her not to do it.”

 _I’m adding “Heart Attack” to the list of Imposter types,_ Red thinks amusedly, looking on as Pink takes Green’s hand. White finally composes herself.

“I wish I could’ve seen your face,” she says, still giggling.

“You—you’ll pay for y-your sins, White,” Pink gasps, gripping Green’s shoulder with one hand and his own chest with the other. “Why are you like this?”

This only sets off White laughing again, and Green finally kicks her out of the room, sending her off with a sharp glare, flipping open his visor for the full effect.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Green says once it’s just him, Pink, and Red. “Are you okay?”

“I think I’m fine now,” Pink says as his breathing steadies. “I think you need better friends, Green.”

Green laughs—not much, just lightly, and punctuated with the edge of a sob. “Maybe,” he says, and rubs at his eyes. Pink freezes, his hand hovering over Green’s shoulder. After a tense moment, Pink flips open his own visor. His eyes are sad, accented by dark, sleepless circles.

“Are you okay, Green?” Pink’s soft voice is so low that it barely passes the air between them.

“Yes,” Green says without hesitation. “Well, no. But I have to be.” He rubs at his eyes again. Pink catches his right hand and holds it there, and Green freezes.

Pink quickly withdraws his hand, sputtering out an apology. “It’s not good to rub, uh, too much,” he says quietly, averting his eyes.

They all sit there silently for a moment. Red wishes he could interact with his crewmates if only so he could give Green a comforting pat, or maybe throw Pink out by the hem of his pink suit. As he is still dead, he settles for floating menacingly at Green’s shoulder.

“Um,” Green says, and both Pink and Red startle to attention. “It’s time for dinner.” He takes a step back and fumbles with his visor. “That’s—uh—that’s all we came here for.”

“Right,” Pink says, and whispers another apology as Green leaves the room in a rush.

Red is about to follow when White sticks her helmet back through the doorway. “What did you say to him, Pink?” She says, and her tone is light but with a hint of _something_ that sends a shiver up Red’s incorporeal spine.

Red tunes out Pink’s protests and White’s thinly veiled threats to float his way to the Cafeteria. Earlier tests of his newfound abilities revealed that he could now pass through walls without trouble, and slightly later tests helped to mostly eliminate the motion sickness that followed. Even with the nausea, the time saved was worth it—no more walking in circles around the ship.

He passes through Medbay, where Purple is grumbling through a full-body scan with close supervision by Orange, and then to the Cafeteria, where Cyan is preparing food for the crew while their personal entourage bicker between themselves.

Dinner is harder than Red expects. Breakfast was interrupted and he rarely had more than coffee for lunch on a good day, but dinner was his second favorite time of day. Normally, he would be done with tasks by now, and he could just enjoy spending time with his favorite person on the ship. Now, he doesn’t even feel hungry, which he supposes is a blessing if he can’t eat.

He hovers silently next to Green while everyone else eats with muted noise. Joining them at their table is White and Yellow, both of whom seem to be having a silent conversation whenever Green looks away.

White sends Yellow a cautious look, and then slowly pushes a slice of strawberry cheesecake forward. “Hey, buddy,” she says in Green’s direction. “I got you some cheesecake.”

“No, thanks,” Green says, not looking up from where he was pushing around broccoli on his plate.

White looks visibly worried now, and Yellow puts down her fork. “But you love cheesecake,” she says. “You’ve eaten it every night for months!”

“Because Red always gave it to me,” Green says, and stabs a piece of broccoli with vigor. “I don’t really like cheesecake.”

White takes back her slice.

Tears prick at the corner of Red’s eyes. He can’t do this. It isn’t fair that he can’t eat dinner, that he can’t share it with Green, that Green never told him the truth. It’s too much, and he doesn’t stick around the Cafeteria to wallow in his terribly unfair luck.

He floats with purpose towards the dorms, which are across from Medbay, tucked away to the right of the Upper Engine Room. He’s gotten better at feeling where he’s going even while lurking in the ship’s walls, and reaches his own room in no time at all. Relief washes over him as the din of the Cafeteria is silenced and he is alone in the dark. Despite not needing to breathe, he’d been gasping, and now that’s slowing down as he relaxes.

Red takes a look around his room. It’s lightly messy, though he doesn’t have a lot of belongings. He has a small bed, a dresser, a desk with a chair. There’s a lamp he no longer needs, a closet with only undergarments and sleepwear, several different tool and repair kits in his dresser drawers, his handbook and favorite mug on his desk next to a box of unused pens. There was never much in the way of entertainment.

He floats aimlessly for a while, not yet wanting to find out whether he can still sleep. He practices resting in his desk chair, makes a futile attempt to move his mug off his handbook, peeks into his crewmate’s rooms to check whether dinner was done. At some point, he tries to take off his ghostly suit, and finds that while he can’t remove it, the pockets still work, one of which contains an equally ghostly copy of the crewmate handbook. The semi-transparent pages are readable, somehow, and thinking too hard about how that could be possible gives him a migraine.

“I thought I was done with pain,” Red groans, and flips through the pages to distract himself from the science-induced headache. There’s a mound of information, all of which is vaguely familiar and mostly uninteresting. The mechanics of reporting a dead body. Kill cooldowns. Descriptions of each task. The book itself is split into two halves, separated into instructions for Crewmates and instructions for Imposters. Red reads for what must be hours, mostly skimming until a particular passage catches his eye.

 _All associates onboard the Skeld must complete their respective tasks until the end of the Game,_ it reads, the word “Game” giving Red a nasty feeling, _which is only achievable through the defeat of all Crewmates or all Imposters. There are no exceptions, including but not limited to: Ship Failure, Personnel Failure, Societal Failure, Change of Heart, New or Other Contracts, Outside Intervention, Divine Intervention, Dismemberment, or Death._

He barely has time to mull the last sentence over before the Oxygen alarm sounds, signaling imminent doom for everyone still living.

“Dammit, White,” he grouches, and packs his handbook back into his pocket. He sticks his head through the door, sees that no one is still in the dorms, and decides he might as well go to where the action is. Not that he’s worried; fixing the O2 problem is so simple that Cyan could and sometimes did fix it by themself with a practiced hand and a light jog.

Red floats quickly out of the Dorms’ walls, through the abandoned and cleaned Cafeteria, and into Administration, which seemed to have slightly more people. He settles in next to the wall, looking over Blue’s shoulder at Cyan’s efforts.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Cyan says as they tap at the keypad, visor up and brow furrowed.

“Oh, that’s easy,” White says, perched on the surveillance table, her feet swinging back and forth. “You just type in the number on the post-it.”

“Don’t be a smartass, White,” Cyan says, as Yellow giggles quietly nearby. “I meant that it went off at all.”

“The Imposter shouldn’t be able to sabotage anything after our tasks are done,” Blue explains calmly. “Which means—”

“Someone didn’t finish, I know, relax,” White says lightly, and Red can almost feel that smug grin. “Or maybe this ship is actually breaking down for once. We’ve been up here forever and a day.”

“Maybe,” Cyan says, and the alarm finally quiets down. The room seems to take an experimental breath, and confirms that yes, everything is back to normal. “White, get off the table. We have chairs.”

The wall between Admin and O2 is relatively thin, so Red escapes White’s ensuing whine by leaning through to the other room. There Green is staring blankly at the keypad, flanked by Orange and Purple, who are having a quiet yet similar discussion.

“I did all of my tasks,” Orange insisted. “I know I did! I had the reactor, the one in Navigation, the shields…”

“I know you did,” Purple says. “I was there for all of that. I finished mine too.”

Green says nothing, but shakes his head when the two of them prod him for information. “He’s probably fine,” Orange says. “His tasks must be short, since I hardly see him even on a normal day.”

“Because he’s always hanging off of Red,” Purple says offhandedly, and yelps when Orange jabs him in the ribs.

Red feels Lime coming before he sees him, and sure enough, Lime almost slams into the doorway in his rush to get inside, making all of them jump. “Okay,” he pants, with obvious effort. “You three are here.” He leans against the doorframe, breathing hard.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Purple says, and there’s a murmur of agreement from both Orange and Green.

Lime takes another moment to find his voice. “I just ran here from Admin,” he says, and straightens up. “Cyan, Blue, White, and Yellow are talking about it in there.”

“Okay, so?” Purple says, and winces when Orange pokes at him again. “Sorry, Lime. Why did you run here?”

Lime’s visor is down and his face is unseeable, but when he speaks, Red can hear the dread in his voice. “I can’t find Pink,” he says.

Green’s head snaps around from his silent contemplation.

Red’s stomach drops to the floor. He doesn’t waste a moment, leaving the now-panicked O2 behind and moving swiftly through the ship, to where he saw Pink last, to where he knows White must have gotten that much closer to winning.

The Cafeteria is dark, devoid of anything but freshly wiped tables.

Medbay is desolate, the only movement coming from the gentle hum of the scanner.

The instant the very edge of Red’s body melts through that last wall to Security, he feels it before he sees it.

Pink’s body, slumped against the desk and bloodied monitors, green handbook soaked with red and held tightly in a cold, desperate fist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dead body has been discovered!


	5. Imposter(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pink's body is found, and Pink's ghost finds something.

Red barely has the time to process Pink’s freshly dead corpse before something hits him hard from behind. He’s caught so off guard that he and his assailant float straight through the monitors and into the adjacent hallway, where he finally steadies himself. It’s empty, and the entrances to Medbay and the Dorms are open but show no signs of life within.

“RED! Oh, Red!”

He doesn’t hear the voice so much as feel it at the edge of his mind. Something pulls even tighter around his waist, and he looks down to see two pink-suited hands hugging him tightly.

“You’re here, I can’t believe you’re here—”

“Pink, relax,” Red says finally, struggling to turn around and see his face. “I’m here.” His voice cracks, and Red is shocked to feel tears burn at the corners of his eyes. He tries to push away those thoughts and Pink’s arms. “Let go, dumbass.”

Pink reluctantly relinquishes his hold on Red, but he still floats erratically around the hallway, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes. “I can’t believe it,” he blubbers. “You were dead, and we threw you out of the airlock, and then—”

He stops, suddenly, and his eyes(his visor is down, Red realizes, but he can still see Pink’s face) focus on their surroundings. He looks down, and audibly yelps at the sight of the wisp of smoke leading to his body. He looks at Red, looks down at Red’s smoke, and makes another noise of concern.

“You’re dead,” Red supplies helpfully when Pink meets his eyes again.

“Dead…?” Pink whispers. “But how?”

Red jerks his thumb in the direction of Security. “I found your body there,” he says. “It was probably White. She’s the Imposter.”

Pink’s mouth hangs open just slightly, confusion still evident in his eyes. Red tentatively reaches out, and something like euphoria floods his heart when his hand grabs Pink’s shoulder and Pink is startled into looking right at him.

 _I can be seen_ , he thinks, and can’t stop the smile on his face. “Let’s go find the others,” he says, looking away when Pink visibly brightens at his smile. “They’ll be looking for you—er, your body.”

“Okay,” Pink says. “I think—they can’t see us, right?” He rests his hand on top of Red’s, sending a jolt through Red’s arm. “I couldn’t see you. Until now, I mean.”

Red doesn’t dare move his hand. Somehow, only a day of not being able to feel anything and the threat of a similar eternity makes this small contact just incredible. “Yeah, exactly,” he says, and tugs on Pink’s shoulder.

As it happens, the others find them first. Orange and Purple are leading the charge, calling out Pink’s name, increasing in fervor as they are joined by the group from Admin.

“I’m here!” Pink says despite his recent revelation, pulling away from Red and floating alongside Orange, clipping into the wall when she stops suddenly to stumble into the Dorms.

“Pink!” She yells, and waits there at the threshold while the rest of the crew gather around her. Green is missing, curiously, and Red is torn between looking after Pink, who looks like he might cry as he tries to catch Orange’s attention, and going to find Green. He almost goes with Green, but a stray thought stops him in his tracks. He pats the pocket with his little handbook, remembering the paragraphs, everything he read today after dinner, during which Pink was definitely still alive.

“White’s kill cooldown shouldn’t be done yet,” he murmurs reassuringly to himself. “Green should be safe for an hour after Pink’s death, which was,” he pauses to think, “Not too long ago?” He looks at Pink, who has reverted to his earlier erratic state.

“I’m dead,” Pink mumbles into the fearful air. “I’m dead and alone.” He paces across the hallway, continuing to mumble even as the crew gives up and moves on to the engine room, and Red grabs his arm as he passes yet again.

“Pink, I’m serious, relax,” he says, irritation leaking into his voice. He feels a pang of guilt at the way Pink startles at that—hadn’t Red himself been a wreck after his own death?—but he’d actually been alone then, without the advantage of knowing _why_ White would kill him.

Pink’s tired eyes are bright with panic, but his body calms down and his mumbling trails off. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just saw them, and they looked so worried.” The panic in his eyes fades, replaced by something deeply forlorn. “I really am dead, aren’t I.”

“It’s not that bad,” Red lies, and has to smother a chuckle when Pink gives him an obviously dubious look. “Really! At least you can’t die twice. Plus, there’s no tasks.”

“I liked the tasks,” Pink grumbles, but playfully so, and Red laughs at him.

“Let’s go,” Red says. “They’ll find your body soon and the sooner we get to the table, the less we have to listen to that stupid alarm.”

Pink agrees with him wholeheartedly, and they float together down the dimly lit hallway, into the Cafeteria.

“I always thought it was kinda spooky,” Pink says as they wander through the tables.

“What?”

“The Cafeteria. When it’s empty, at least.”

Red pauses and turns his whole body to look at Pink. “Seriously? Pink, you’re a ghost.”

“I know that!” Pink stops too, blushing furiously. “It was spooky when I was alive!”

Red shakes his head dramatically, laughing under his breath at Pink’s protests.

They finally take their place at the main table. No one else has arrived, and Green is still missing. Red wishes he could press the emergency button and get it over with.

“You were scary, too.”

Pink’s musing snaps Red out of his thoughts. “What?”

Pink instantly holds up his hands, stammering out an apology, but Red just sighs and assures him that it was fine, he was just surprised. “What do you mean, scary?”

“Well, not scary, maybe,” Pink clarifies, “But you weren’t all that approachable. Except maybe for Green.”

“Oh,” Red says.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Pink says quickly, “and you’re a lot nicer now. I wanted to be friends, but you just never seemed interested. And Green—“

Red tenses, a warning in his eyes, but Pink isn’t looking at him. He’s watching the left-side doorway, at Cyan and Lime, at Blue and Orange and Purple, at White and Yellow and Green, all running desperately, as if they might be killed for waiting even a moment too long.

“Holy shit,” Red murmurs, slightly awed as Cyan reaches the table first and slams their fist on the button.

The alarm blares, and Red flips his visor up to avoid the message on the screen, but neither last long as everyone takes their place at the table, stumbling in their rush.

“I think they found you,” Red says, though he doubts Pink can hear him over Purple, who has immediately started yelling.

“Fess up now!” Purple shouts, outraged, as Orange slumps into a heap and sobs. “One of you assholes killed Pink and you won’t get away with it!”

“Shut the hell up,” Lime interrupts. “You’re the suspicious one here, _Purple._ ”

Purple’s face contorts with rage, but he’s cut off by Blue. “Lime is right,” she says. “Where were you during the Oxygen crisis?”

“I was with Orange and Green!” Purple insists, looking wildly at his two alibis. Orange is still sobbing, and Green nods just slightly when the attention is turned to him.

“Okay,” Blue says, more at the group than at Purple, “then all three of them are Imposters.”

Purple is stunned into silence, Green’s head snaps around, and Orange doesn’t move.

Red smothers his rage at Blue’s accusation. He puts a ghostly hand on Green’s back, and can almost feel him shaking.

“Red, are you okay?” Pink asks, and Red nods, not trusting himself to speak.

“Wait,” White says, holding her hands up. Red has never been happier to hear her voice. “I thought there was just one Imposter.”

“There can be more than one,” Cyan speaks up. Their voice is low and tainted with sorrow. “The handbook says it’s likely, and we were told at the beginning how many Imposters we would have.”

“We were?” Pink says, his voice refreshingly quiet compared to the screaming from the living crew. Red shrugs. He can’t remember.

“So that’s settled,” Blue says. “We’ll vote Purple first.”

“Hold on a fucking minute,” Purple says, speaking over the chattering of his nervous crewmates. “You haven’t proved shit. None of us are Imposters.”

“They fixed the other O2,” Yellow quietly points out, shrinking back as Lime and Blue immediately turn on her.

“Leave her alone,” White snaps. “She was with me.” She stands up when Lime refuses to sit, and stares him down. “You two seem pretty set on having three Imposters.”

“Yeah, so?” Lime sneers. “Maybe it’s you and Yellow.”

Yellow seems to almost disappear into her seat.

White swells up with rage. “Yellow is not an Imposter,” she snarls, grabbing Lime by the collar of his suit, and he reacts with very intense swearing and throwing fists at her helmet, followed by more swearing when his hands hit the glass with a _clunk_.

“Dumbasses,” Red observes, watching them idly.

Pink is also watching and getting increasingly worried as things escalate. “You said it was White, right?”

Green tries to soothe White while Purple eggs her on from the other side of the table.

“I mean, that’s who got me,” Red says. “Don’t you remember who killed you?”

Blue stands up and is pushed back down by Cyan, who is looking very stressed.

“No,” Pink admits. “I was too focused on the monitors. Oh, no.”

Green is holding White back now, and Cyan grabs a fistful of Lime’s suit, yanking him back into his seat.

“Control your harem,” White spits at Cyan as Green finally pulls her down.

“Easy,” Cyan warns as Lime’s body tenses. “We don’t need to be fighting right now.”

Lime grumbles, but stays down. “I still think it’s Purple,” he says.

Purple starts to argue again, but then Orange looks up from her arms. Her visor is up, and her face is streaked with red, red tear lines and red blood. The sight sends a chill up Red’s spine, and he hears Pink gasp.

“Why would they kill Pink?” Her voice is so quiet. “Pink never—he never hurt anyone.”

“Oh, Orange,” Pink says softly, but Red’s mind flashes to the last time he really saw Pink alive in Security, when Green and White had come to get him.

“Pink,” he says sharply, and Pink looks his way. “Why did you do that to Green?”

“W-what?”

“You made him uncomfortable. You grabbed his hand.”

“I…uh…”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry!” Pink blurts. “He was just upset, and I wanted to help, but then he was…” Pink peers at Red, his mouth dropping open as he seems to consider Red’s reaction. His eyes light up, and a slow smile stretches across his face. “You’re _jealous._ ”

Red sputters, feeling his face grow hot, and now it’s Pink’s turn to laugh at him, all earlier apologies forgotten.

“I knew it!” Pink gasps, laughing harder when Red turns away, still blushing, pretending to be focused on White and Green comforting Yellow, who is still on the verge of tears from Lime’s outburst. “It’s okay! Everyone knows you and Green are a thing, don’t worry. I’m not coming for your man.”

Somehow, every word out of Pink’s mouth consecutively makes it worse, and Red has to cover his eyes to hide his shame. Then he drops his hand. “Wait,” he says, finally looking at Pink. “What do you mean, ‘everyone knows’? We aren’t even a…a thing yet.”

Pink gives him an odd look. “Sure,” he says, not bothering to muffle his giggling.

Red wants to argue, but they’re both brought back to the conversation by Cyan, who is nearly yelling to make themself heard over the arguments of the living.

“Before any of that,” they say, “we need to establish something first.”

The others quiet down long enough to look at them.

“Thank you,” Cyan sighs. “First, we need to know who didn’t do their tasks.”

“Orange and I did ours,” Purple pipes up immediately, his arm draped around Orange’s shoulders, who is no longer crying but still a mess. “We can vouch for each other.”

“That doesn’t mean shit,” Lime says, glowering at the whole table. “You two could be the Imposters.”

“Really?” Purple snaps. “I bet it’s you and Blue!”

Orange puts her own hand on his free arm, though, and he quiets down, turning his attention to her instead, and Blue silently warns Lime to stop even as he puffs up with indignant rage.

Pink takes advantage of the stroke of silence to chime in, though only Red could hear him. “I finished mine before dinner,” he says. “I was on the cameras the rest of the day.”

“I know,” Red says. “I saw you. I was in that room a lot.”

“Really?” Pink looks uncomfortable. “That’s so weird to think about…what about yours?”

“My what?”

“Your tasks,” Pink says. “Did you do them?”

“I’m dead,” Red says, but something like doubt scratches at the back of his mind as he really thinks about it. “I don’t need to do them…I think?”

Pink watches the others for a minute; White is trying to clear herself, Yellow, and Green simultaneously, while Yellow is too nervous to speak and Green doesn’t say much other than to agree or disagree.

“You know,” he says slowly, “I think you might be wrong about not having to do tasks in the afterlife.”

Privately, Red thinks Pink might be right. He sticks his hand in the pocket with his handbook, feeling the pages, and thinks about that peculiar passage:

_All associates onboard the Skeld must complete their respective tasks until the end of the Game…There are no exceptions, including but not limited to…_

_Death._

“Shit,” Red mumbles.

Suddenly, the miserable rage he’d felt as an unpaid, unappreciated Crewmate for the entire time he’s been on the Skeld comes back in full force, and he slams his ghostly hand on the table, his rage growing when that, unsurprisingly, had no effect on anything. “Shit!”

“Red, it’s okay—are you crying?” Pink, who had been trying to soothe him the whole time, suddenly sounds worried.

“No,” Red lies, wiping furiously at his eyes. “I’m not, I just…ugh.” His hand clenches around his handbook, ruffling the pages, and he feels a stab of guilt as the injustice starts to fade. “I’m, uh,” he says. “I’m sorry for getting you killed.”

Pink seems taken aback. “Red?” Red can see the concern in his eyes, and looks away. “Red, I don’t blame you, okay?”

Red hmphs and refuses to look his way, choosing instead to focus on Cyan, who is just managing to keep order in the meeting.

“At least one of us is lying,” Cyan says, and it’s a testament to their leadership that no one tries to argue. “One of the Crew is lying to us, and I’m not going to drag it out right now, but please,” they plead, “please, finish your tasks after this meeting. I don’t want anyone else to die.”

“Okay,” Red mumbles.

The rest of the group, even those who had been fighting so fiercely before took this quietly, shuffling uncomfortably in their seats. Red knew it wasn’t their fault even when they didn’t.

“We’ve been on this ship for a long time,” Cyan continues. “We started as strangers doing a job and now we’re here, as a community.”

“What job are we doing?” It’s Green that speaks up, surprising everyone. “I don’t know how long we’ve been up here, but we haven’t accomplished anything. The tasks reset themselves every morning.”

“I—uh, I don’t remember either,” Cyan admits. “It’s just something we have to do, right?” They look around for support, and everyone just looks as lost as they are.

“It’s weird,” White muses. “It’s kind of weird to be named after a color, and to happen ten times.”

There’s a murmured agreement from the rest of the table, but then Lime stands up again, so stiffly that Red can practically feel the frustration in his own bones.

“None of that matters right now,” Lime says. “Who gives a shit? We need to vote.”

“Lime is right, unfortunately,” Blue says, sneering at Lime’s glare. “We need a consensus on how many Imposters we have, and who is going to be removed first.”

Cyan takes out their handbook and riffles through the pages, speaking all the while. “It’s most likely two Imposters,” they say, settling on a page and tapping a paragraph that Red can’t see. “Everyone seems to have an alibi, and the people who’ve died so far were alone at the time. Also, the book says that three is ‘very unlikely’.”

“Wait,” Red says. “Are they serious? Pink, didn’t you say you couldn’t see who killed you?”

“You’re right,” Pink gasps. “Maybe it wasn’t White! Who, then?”

“You know,” Red muses, “I never actually saw Lime until after you’d died.” It made sense to him, why Lime was so out of breath, why he’s been so insistent that it’s Purple, the one person with the tightest alibi. The problem was, why fight with your teammate so publicly?

“You think it’s Lime?” Pink’s voice is barely a whisper as he leans across the table. “Really?”

“Maybe,” Red says. “Or Yellow. She was acting weird after I died.”

Pink sinks back into his seat, observing the two suspects with a thoughtful look. “We could follow them,” he points out. “See if they do anything suspicious.”

“I still have to do my tasks,” Red says. “I don’t know how it’ll work with me being, uh, a ghost. I’ll need extra time.”

“Oh, true.”

“Who do we vote, then?” White asks, her voice sharp with irritation, or maybe fear. “Do we have to choose right now?”

“It’s risky,” Cyan admits. “If we don’t vote now, there might be more deaths, but if we do then someone will die for certain, and not necessarily the Imposter.”

“I’m still voting Purple,” Lime announces.

“Well, then I’m voting Lime,” Purple shoots back.

“I don’t trust Lime,” White says, and Yellow gives a sharp nod next to her.

“I really think we should skip,” Orange says quietly, and Green gives a noise of affirmation.

“I think we should discuss this more,” Cyan begins, but is quickly pressured to give up. “Fine,” they sigh. “Time to vote.”

The final tally, after the living Crewmates vote and the results show up in everyone’s visors, is two votes for Purple, three votes for Lime, and three votes to skip. Cyan ushers everyone to Security, presumably for Pink’s funeral and to avoid the ensuing fight, and Red and Pink are left behind at the table, the results of the vote fading from view.

“That was close,” Red says, and Pink laughs, just slightly.

“I’m glad they didn’t vote Purple out,” Pink says. “I do miss him but Orange would be devastated.”

“You’ve only been dead for an hour at most,” Red says, rolling his eyes. “That’s not enough to miss someone like Purple.”

“Hey,” Pink says, something sharp in his voice. “I’m sorry, but don’t talk that way about him. Don’t you miss Green? You only died this morning.”

Pink’s words sting, but Red is still irked. “Of course, I miss Green,” he grumbles. “But that’s different.”

“Not really,” Pink says, so quietly Red almost doesn’t hear him.

They sit in awkward silence for a while, until Red decides it’s time to finish his tasks. “I’m sorry,” he offers as he floats up and away from his seat. “Want to do tasks with me?”

Pink brightens considerably, and his tired smile is back, letting Red know all is forgiven.

“Sure!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making friends is important! Especially friends who don't snitch.


End file.
